


Sorrow, Hope, and Shattered Swords

by AngelwingsandDemonthings



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Also lowkey a Girl Who Drank the Moon AU, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, But also it is paranoia, Character Death, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders-centric, Eldritch Sides, Human/Monster Romance, Human/Monster Society, I have the ability to create Oc's and I Will make that y'all's problem, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Lowkey a Tale of Desperaux AU if you squint, M/M, Magic, Monster Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Monster Deceit | Janus Sanders, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, Smitten Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Swordfighting, Swords & Sorcery, Unreliable Narrator, Virgil is an Eldritch abomination and that's kind of sexy of him, but like, intrusive narrator, it's not often directly referenced though, patentpending inspired this, they're baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27360211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelwingsandDemonthings/pseuds/AngelwingsandDemonthings
Summary: There’s a monster in the woods.A horrible, horrible monster- with so many legs and scales and fire and teeth and eyes that glow golden in the dark.This is what everyone had told Roman Alvarez, ever since he was eight years old.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 37
Kudos: 42





	1. In Which Roman Receives a Sword for his Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patentpending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patentpending/gifts).



> Hi y'all! So this is the start of something a little different. I've been wanting to branch out with my writing for a bit now, and then I read "The Princey Bride" by @patentpending and was hit with a BUS of inspiration and so I wrote this in like- half an hour. Yeet. 
> 
> It's kinda in the same fun narrating style which was a BLAST to try out so thank you thank you thank you Elena. <3
> 
> If you haven't read everything Elena has ever written then like- um, why? Kinda cringe bro. Get on that. 
> 
> (also yes hi Elena I'm huge fan I've never really talked to you but I stalk your tumblr. Powerless killed me and I plan to be The Savior for Halloween next year. alright? cool. this fic is lowkey a gift and my way of thanking you for inspiring my writing :D )

_There’s a monster in the woods._

_A horrible, horrible monster- with so many legs and scales and fire and eyes that glow golden in the dark._

That is what everyone had told Roman Alvarez, ever since he was eight years old.

Well, perhaps they’d begun to tell him before then, but as everyone knows, eight years of age is the time when children really start to _remember_ things, and our dear Roman was no exception.

Eh, you know, except for those strangely specific memories from when we were infants that most of us seem to have, but none of us can swear if they are real or imagined.

But forgive me, I digress.

“Really? Can I see?” Roman had said in response to that first (at least the first remembered) warning. Mouth hung just slightly open and eyes shining as his leg bounced with excitement.

“No!” The village wise woman snapped. “Don’t look so excited- and don’t say such things, for goodness sake child. This is a dire warning. Dire! Don’t you know monsters eat children?”

In many circles, “wise” is used as a synonym for “old.” This has never quite made sense as those are not, in fact, necessarily mutually inclusive. A certain president is currently seventy-four, and I’m not really seeing a whole lot going on there. (This was before said president, but some beings are so unsettling they transcend the time laws). Anyway, for the sake of the narrative, I shall set aside my strangely specific abhorrence for the widely overused used customs of storytelling.

“Why?” Roman asked. (In response to the whole “monsters eat kids” line)

“They need the fiber.”

Roman didn’t understand what these monsters could possibly be eating on a day to day basis that required them to consume children in order to get a healthy amount of fiber. He wondered briefly if he should learn to bake bran muffins (this was after bran muffins). Besides, maybe if he left them outside the woods, he’d get to catch a glimpse of something exciting. Something other than the same stone and straw houses and walls of his own village.

Unfortunately for Roman, enthusiasm to explore the unknown and a desire to see “really cool” monsters was not enough of an argument to convince his parents. Or the village. Or that wrought iron gate that was the only gate in or out of the walled in village. No matter how many times Roman kicked it or tried to pry it open or tried to speak rationally to it.

Stupid, stubbornly inanimate objects. Move for once.

With nothing to explore for nearly twelve years except the four stone walls of uneven length that surrounded him at all times, Roman almost went mad.

And he might have, dear readers, had a certain birthday gift not come along.

Now, forgive me for the momentary pause, but in order to go onward- we must first take a few steps backward. This seems backward, (haha _backward_ ) I know, but please trust me for a moment. Or don’t; whatever provides buoyancy to your seafaring vessel.

On the twenty-sixth of November, the village blacksmith came down with a cold. Now this may seem unrelated, but please, hear me out.

As everyone who has ever had a cold knows, during one, one’s breathing is considerably constricted- as one’s nose clogs up and we are left lying straight as a board in bed, unable to fall asleep as we pine for the days of clear, unhindered breathing.

This is precisely what happened to Tace Velky, the village blacksmith. They awoke the morning they were to fill an order for three swords having snagged a whole impressive grand total of one and a half hours of sleep the night before.

In this moment, all the poor, overworked college students and minimum wage job holders looked up and said, “big mood.”

This wasn’t physically audible in this village of course, as this story takes place many hundreds of years before both college and minimum wage, but it was _felt_ nonetheless.

 _Achoo!_ Tace sneezed, as they swung their favorite forty-pound hammer down on a white-hot piece of metal, flattening the end into the width of what would be a particularly fine sword. (By the way, this was after nonbinary people; everything is after nonbinary people.)

Tace was the best blacksmith in the village- they were also technically the _only_ blacksmith in the village, but even if they hadn’t been, they still would have been the best. However, even the most professional can slip up when they’re sneezing their brains out every twenty seconds. Every hunter, seaman, blacksmith or NFL player (whatever that is) can make a mistake when sick. Especially if they happen to have a worryingly violent sneeze. 

Tucking their long, tangled, blonde hair behind their ears, Tace tightened their grip on their hammer. The last sword of the day- a longsword- was almost done with; just one more stroke. They were tired, muscular arms singed from the sparks. The heat of the forge had aggravated their cold, and their nose and eyes were running and watering like a fountain. (I apologize for the unsightly description, but I am attempting to be a _reliable_ intrusive narrator here, so please, allow me some liberties.)

Swinging, Tace struck the sword near the tip. Their swing was godly, their aim prefect, the pressure flawless. They had only forgotten one small thing due to their cold-clogged mind- and this was firing the sword to make it just a titch more pliant before the strike.

Now, this may not seem like a particularly grievous mistake to some, but to those who bear even a rudimentary knowledge of metalworking and of Einstein’s third law, (this was before Einstein, but please- join me in ignoring that if you would be so kind) the error is horrifyingly prevalent.

The sword, as some of you may have guessed and others of you may have not, shattered. This is what happens when one hits a new, fragile, sword with something extremely hard while using at least seventy pounds of force.

The top four and a half inches, give or take a few millimeters, of the (formerly long) longsword snapped off, shiny silver fragments showering to the stone floor with a series of metallic clicks. 

Tace groaned, leaning against the wall of their forge with a pained grimace. The odds of a customer buying a sword where the top was broken off were slim to none. They scrubbed a hand down their face, hissing at the throbbing in their temples. Goodness they needed sleep.

“Mx?”

Tace startled at the voice, eyes flicking open, then down, then widening when they came to rest on a kid.

“Just call me Tace.” They muttered, trying to push aside their headache and sticking their hands in their pockets. (whether this was before or after pockets is unknown.)

“Oh! Ok, Tace.” The kid said, shuffling.

Tace cocked their head, brow furrowing as they studied the kid in front of them. Dark brown hair, light brown skin…he looked familiar. A sudden burst of recognition broke over them the next moment.

“Hey, now. Aren’t you the Alvarez kid? What’s your name? Rowan?”

“Roman” the kid corrected them.

Tace nodded awkwardly. “Mmm. So, then, what are you doing here?” they asked, cringing inwardly as the question came off a mite sharper than they’d intended. They never knew how to talk to kids- probably because they had never had any. (This was just fine with Tace, as they were both aromantic and asexual and this was definitely before artificial insemination.)

Roman nodded to the broken sword. “I was just walking past, and I heard a shattering noise. Came to see if you were alright” He scuffed at the ground for a minute more. “What- What do you want for it?” he blurted abruptly; head snapping up and eyes fixed on the sword. “I’ll buy it.”

Tace blinked. (as I just mentioned before, Tace was an individual who really didn’t really know how to talk to most people let alone kids. Which, if you’ll forgive my use of a word that will not be used in this context for a few more hundred years, is entirely valid.)

“I- What are you, eleven?” Tace said, before they could stop themself and reword their question into something that sounded less rude.

Roman puffed out his scrawny chest, looking remarkably like a provoked pufferfish. “I’m almost twelve!” 

Tace considered this for a moment, taking in the scrawny, dirt covered child who didn’t look like he had two pennies to rub together. The child that had burst into their forge just to make sure they were alright. The child who seemed a curious contrast to everyone else in the village.

“Aw, what hell?” They said. No one was buying it anyway. And Tace wasn’t so hard that they couldn’t give a child something on their birthday. Turning, Tace picked up the shattered sword, offering it to Roman. “You can have it, kid. Call it a birthday present”

Roman’s eyes widened. They almost seemed to sparkle as he reached out a finger and touched the edge of the sword, awestruck. “Really?” he whispered.

It really was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship; Tace was no amateur. The edge was keen, honed to a perfect razor. The sword shone with a sheen that would glint brilliantly in the light, and the hilt was a masterwork- a delicate but sturdy sculpture of metal vines and small flowers. Even with the top few inches broken off, it was a sword fit for a prince.

“Well, yeah really.” Tace said, embarrassed by the shining look Roman was fixing them with. They rubbed at the back of their neck. “I don’t flap my mouth for the sheer pleasure of it y’know.”

(I do, as you might have guessed, flap my mouth for the sheer pleasure of it. But, so do a lot of beloved fictional characters, so I think that’s pretty main character energy of me. Unfortunately for you, if you wish to hear this story (and it is a rather epic one) then you must tolerate my double threat of long windedness and interruptions.)

Roman reached out, wrapping his hands around the hilt that Tace held out to him with a reverent expression. The sword, even with its broken tip, was over half as tall as he was. Tace let go and the sword nosedived, tip clanging off the stone floor of the forge.

Tace raised an eyebrow. “Need some help there, kid?”

Roman shook his head, stuck his tongue between his teeth in concentration, and heaved. His thin arms shook with exertion and his face reddened slightly as he lifted the sword, puffing as he managed to swing it up and around. Tace jumped aside just in time to save their favorite shirt from being turned into a crop top. (This was actually, after crop tops. Tace just didn’t personally care for them.)

Roman beamed as he managed to swing the sword up high enough to rest it carefully on his shoulder.

For the very first time, Tace briefly considered that it might not be the most…responsible thing- to give a small child a very sharp sword that was almost as tall as he was.

Tace shrugged. Eh, they weren’t about to take back a gift.


	2. In Which Roman and Tace Conspire to Cause Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the rest of the village was spiraling further into depression, Tace prepared to help Roman study the blade 
> 
> Or: where Roman and his best friend lowkey conspire against the government

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Here's the next chapter!! Sorry it took me a while, I'd planned to have it out sooner then like. Destiel went cannon and that was a complete One Hit KO for me. Like, it shot me point blank. I'm still processing, actually haha
> 
> Anyway, this one's a little longer :3 I'm having so very much fun writing this and I hope y'all are having fun reading it. Just as a heads up, the tags might changing bc I'm literally making this up as I go. 
> 
> P.S. Unus Annus ended, how we feeling boys? I myself am a mess.

Readers, before we go forward, we must once again go backwards. I must inform you that it so happens that the village in which Roman lived was indeed boring and drab and downright sorrowful and everything that has been hinted at earlier. Actually, it may have been worse.

To be frank with you all (though my name is not frank), the village was a place that was blanketed in an air of despair and regret and fear that had settled over the population following a particularly sad event that had taken place just two years before our dear Roman was born. But that is another story for another time (next chapter, maybe. No promises.)

Even the physical state of the village was somehow affected, until the formerly lush green gardens and meadows painted with wildflowers and the houses which had doors carved with vines and painted all sorts of cheerful colors lost their cheerful edges. And then the people lost their cheerful edges. And then even the weather.

The village became a land of monochromatic, dead-minded sorrow. Even the traders that traveled there annually to trade with the farmers noticed and shuddered when it was time to make the trip to the “Village of Sorrows” as it had been so dubbed.

Anyway, to prevent any further misfortunes, the village counsel of elders decreed that any such things like curiosity, or foolish bravery or learning to fight or asking questions or leaving the village was strictly and utterly forbidden. But the most forbidden thing of them all was this: there was to be no contact with the monsters in the woods. Ever.

And so, the people sat, stagnant, in their sorrow and their hopelessness and didn’t do a thing about it. Which of course, only leads to more sorrow.

Yes, the village was a place that did not have a single truly happy person in it. Though Roman and his new friend Tace came as close as anyone could get.

Now, onward with the story.

Years passed, and our dear Roman shot up like a weed. (this is actually a comparison that I find perfectly apt. Have you ever tried to keep a garden consistently clear of weeds? A nightmare. It’s like- wow ok goodness I just pulled all these LAST NIGHT I SWEAR TO- Anyway. I definitely _don’t_ have weeding to do that I’ve been ignoring haha. _Ahem_ , we’ve veered off track again.)

Along with growth of the height variety, Roman grew stronger as well. The thin (some may say noodlelike. Not me, but some) arms he had in his youth strengthened, layers of sinewy muscle forming around them. Thus, by the time Roman Alvarez was nineteen, he was the most athletic person in the whole village, much to the chagrin of the elders. (he wasn’t the strongest, but only the village blacksmith had him beat in that category).

Part of this muscle was developed due to his daily attempts to climb the stone wall that surrounded the village. Roman knew this wasn’t really a way he could ever hope to get out, as the village mage had cast a repelling spell around the top of the wall that wouldn’t let one climb over, but there was something cathartic about climbing the eighteen foot wall anyways. And it was really good exercise.

Another part of the reason for Roman’s physique stemmed from his twelfth birthday gift of a sword that had been given to him almost seven years ago now. He practiced every day. Sometimes the “practicing” consisted of swinging the sword wildly at invisible foes and yelling “ _face me foul fiend!_ ” but that’s just self-care, really. Don’t judge our lovely knight in spirit. 

Now, readers, before I inform you of the last bit of Roman’s life that helped him develop athletically (and intellectually), I must first make sure that you are aware of a rather unpleasant truth. I do not wish to do this, but it is my duty as narrator.

People, in general, are creatures of a flock. People don’t necessarily like when others in their society do not conform. It confuses them, which can make them uncomfortable. And with some, that uncomforted feeling may harden into a black coal of fear, which eventually ignites into a white flame of anger and hate.

And Roman, with his questions and his bravery and his enthusiasm for the new, and his unsatisfied attitude toward the fear blinded, gloomy village was really anything except conforming.

I must insist however, that while people may be creatures of flock, we are also creatures of empathy. Only those who are already afraid or angry or hurt in some way or another let themselves to ignite into this burning coal of hate.

The majority of us allow the fear to melt away and set ourselves afire with compassion and love instead. This is a flame that is _just_ as powerful as that of hate. In fact, it is even more so, because it is often a conscious effort. It is a decision to be better every day.

The world can be miserable, terrifying, cruel, and sad, but we get to choose whether we let those things turn us into creatures of hate or beings of love.

Hate is very horrifyingly easy to lose oneself to.

But love? Love always makes us stronger.

Now, with that out of the way, it’s time to go backward again for another minute, and tell you that the rest of Roman’s strength came from a certain, second birthday decision, taking place about four years after the first.

One fine November day- (small side note readers, what makes a day “fine”? For me it’s when I get to see my some of my loved ones or when the weather is rainy or when the DVD logo bounces and hits the corner of the screen perfectly.) a day before our dear Roman was to turn sixteen, he walked into Tace Velky’s forge.

The blacksmith had their back to him, sharpening the edge of an impressive battle axe, the stone wheel turning up a shower of sparks as it ground away at the sharp metal edge.

Roman shuffled. He had seen Tace since that birthday when he was eleven of course, but he hadn’t come _inside_ their forge since that day. Not really for any particular reason- he just wasn’t sure what he’d go inside for.

But he stopped by almost every day, saying hi and talking about his exercises and his day and asking about Tace’s day and leaving muffins as well as the occasional loaf of bread outside the door when Tace wasn’t there. Roman figured there was nothing he owned that he could give them that would make up the cost of the sword that had become his most valued possession, but he could give them his friendship. And his pastries.

He had taken up baking when he was ten- with the original intent of luring out the monsters that everyone swore were in the woods.

Though, after a few years of pushing muffins and sweet bread and rolls through the bars of the iron gate that penned the village, and not seeing anything, Roman had given up.

The food always vanished when he looked away though- accompanied with a shiver of wind and an ethereal whispering sound from the thicket of gooseberry bushes just beyond the gate.

Once, the loaf of bread he had fallen asleep while watching had disappeared; and left in its place was a single, silvery filament of what looked like spider silk.

Though, everyone Roman told about this insisted that the noise and the missing food was just because of the birds or the animals in the forest. Roman wasn’t sure whether he believed that or not, (adults will often tell children what is easy rather than what is true) but either way, he ceased the “bait” angle of monster spotting by the time he was thirteen.

No, now Roman just baked because it made him and others happy. And readers, those are some of the best reasons to do something in the whole world.

Anyways, on this particular day those few years ago, Roman walked into Tace Velky’s forge. He leaned against the doorway, scuffing his boot against the stone floor as he waited for the blacksmith to be done with sharpening the axe. He had learned the hard way many months ago that Tace startled very easily, which was not a desirable match with a sharp instrument.

The blacksmith kept grinding away, humming what sounded like a Hozier song under their breath. (this was after and also during Hozier. That man is immortal.)

Roman frowned, impatient. Making a quick decision, he cleared his throat and then ducked.

Tace startled. They swung around with the axe, swishing it a good foot over Roman’s ducked head and almost chopping their own braid off.

“ _Kid.”_ Tace said, breathing heavily. They clutched their heart, leaning against the wall. “How many times do I have to tell ya?”

Roman laughed, straightening (ha. Straight. Yeah right) up and leaning casually against the brick wall. “Aw Tace is that any way to treat your dearest friend?”

“Dearest annoyance, maybe”

Roman gasped, throwing a hand over his heart in mock outrage. “Why I’m offended! Outraged! Simply flummoxed!”

Tace sighed. “ _Why_ did I give you that dictionary for your birthday?”

“Because you love me”

Tace glared.

Roman grinned. He moved off from the wall, pulling out a basket of muffins from behind his back. “Well you love these at least.”

Tace raised their eyebrows. “zucchini muffins?”

“y-e-p”

Tace sniffed, attempting and failing to look disinterested. “You’re forgiven.”

Roman smiled again, handing off the muffins to Tace and looking on fondly as the large blacksmith proceeded to immediately eat two of them at once with apparent ease. (readers: y’all ever tried zucchini muffins? I’m serious they’re bomb)

“Soo” he began a few seconds later in an innocent tone of voice.

Tace looked up. Eyes wide and expression mildly penitent as crumbs fell from their mouth. “Oh dud yoo wanbt sombe?

“I’m sorry, I could never. I wouldn’t dare dream of depriving you of your zucchini muffins.” Roman deadpanned, bowing.

Tace chuckled.

“As it happens…” Roman said hesitantly. “There is _something_ I want, actually.” He scuffed at the floor again, pushing around a piece of charred wood from the forge fire with the toe of his boot. (it is often easier to focus on something small and inconsequential in face of discomfort or embarrassment.) 

Tace’s eyebrows drew together in curiosity. They tilted their head, inviting Roman to go on.

Roman shuffled. “Well. I was wondering if- if you could teach me to fight?” he asked, the last of his nerves melting away as he spoke. He lifted his gaze, meeting Tace’s eyes with a light in his own.

Tace quirked an eyebrow. "What are you, thirteen?"

Roman swelled like an indignant bullfrog. "I'm almost sixteen! And-" he cut off at the sight of Tace's face, mouth curled upward in an amused expression. "Oh, you're joking haha I knew that."

It once again became silent in the forge.

Tace considered. Took another bite. Swallowed. Considered some more. “Well now” they said. “What would you want to learn?”

“Sword fighting” Roman answered, no hesitation in his tone.

“Mmm” Tace said. “And…why?”

Roman hummed, frowning as he stared at the wall, thinking. “I think…” he cleared his throat, going on. “I think that I just don’t want to be… someone who doesn’t care.”

Readers, what dear Roman was trying to say in his own way, was that he was tired of the air of gloom and of fear that hung around and over the village that he had spent his whole life in. He was tired of hearing of the lands beyond the gate and being held back from them because of this fear. He was tired of playing the part of someone that didn’t care for more. Who didn’t even care to _try_ for more. And he wanted to do something in the face of that.

Roman grinned suddenly. “Plus, it’d be _really_ cool.”

Tace raised an eyebrow. They may not have been a “people person” as the kids say, but they knew Roman well enough by now to hear all the words he meant concealed in the words he had said.

They thought about it. It would be very dangerous to teach Roman sword fighting. Any practices of weapons or anything that could be considered “aggressive” or even “brave” were banned and feared in this village and the punishment was banishment.

The banished never returned. No one who had gone into the woods had ever returned.

Tace thought some more, looking up and meeting Roman’s shining eyes.

Roman had a look about him. They had thought so ever since he burst into their forge all those years ago. He had a fire- a life in him that no one else seemed to have. _No one._ Everyone in the village had these eyes- (Tace paused to shudder)- these eyes that looked dead and devoid of any single emotion except for fear and regret.

They themselves had had those eyes- though they’d felt the dark, cloudy gloom that had twisted itself into their heart begin to loosen its hold when Roman had stepped into their life. Bringing with him his fire that could warm and comfort the coldest soul and chase away the shadows.

Roman was a hinge upon which great events swung, even if he didn’t know it yet.

“I’ll teach you.” Tace said finally. Their throat tight with emotion as they patted Roman’s shoulder.

Roman beamed.

Tace held up a warning finger- “But- you need to be careful. The elders are always watching. They’ll throw you and me out if they catch us.”

Roman rolled his eyes.

(small side note here: Hi hello it’s me. The narrator. I’m still here I’m just, like, so tired. Runnin on like 1.2 hours of sleep here so sorry if I was quiet this chapter I’m too tired to think. Ok back to the story)

They cleared their throat. “You’ll need to work here. With me”

Roman looked ecstatic, then furrowed his brow, confused. “I- I mean yes! Yes of course! But uh… why?”

“So that you can have an excuse to be over here so much. If I’m teaching you it will take a long time. Years.”

Roman’s eyes had gone wide when Tace said “years” but not in fear or shock, but rather in eagerness.

Tace smiled a little. “Still got that sword?”

Roman laughed. “Are you kidding? Not a day goes that I’m not swinging that thing around.” He struck a pose- a dramatic stance just bordering on ridiculous. “I’m basically a knight now” he said breezily.

Tace tried to turn the corners of their mouth down but quickly went on when they could feel themself decidedly failing at that. “Well come on then, knight. Let’s see just how good you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! You're amazing!!! Sorry about getting a lil carried away with Tace, I just love them. Other TSS characters will make an appearance soon I promise <3 Take care of yourself cut yourself some slack alright? It's ok to not be productive every day. *cyber hug*
> 
> ~Lowen

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING YOU WONDERFUL PAL. 
> 
> Tace is my OC and I love them please love them as much as I do thanks 
> 
> Spot the part where I roast T*ump and you'll receive 10,000 points 
> 
> Leave a kudos or a comment if you want to. Or just leave if you don't- no judgement here broski, whatever provides buoyancy to your seafaring vessel. (The phrase was "whatever floats your boat" but I improved it). 
> 
> The next chapter will be up as soon as my hectic schedule permits but I am Working On It. 
> 
> Have a LOVELY day and drink water, take your meds and remember to not wear your binder too long ok? *forehead kiss* 
> 
> -Lowen


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